


Ruined It

by joshlymanwalkandtalk (Joshlymanwalkandtalk)



Category: Pod Save America (RPF)
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Masturbation, Miscommunication, Oral Sex, Pining, Underwear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 00:36:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10651365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joshlymanwalkandtalk/pseuds/joshlymanwalkandtalk
Summary: Favs knows that Lovett really likes him and he really likes that, but is it too much of a risk?





	Ruined It

They seemed to travel in packs now. But no matter what, Lovett and Favreau were together. Dan came and went, Tommy lingered often, but Lovett was always somewhere close.

Lovett spent more time on Jon's couch than Jon did, and definitely more time staring at Jon's TV than he ever spent in his own house. It was a nice constant, knowing that Lovett would bust through his door at any minute and joyful, loud noise would follow. Jon felt like there was an invisible string tied to their belt loops, keeping them from getting too far apart. It felt nice.

Favreau's place was where most of their work seemed to happen, if anything was getting done. His kitchen table always had at least two laptop on it, wires winding down the table legs and across the floor. Tommy would be recording an interview in the kitchen, his gangly legs tucked under the table, while Jon tried to wrangle their schedules and Lovett scrolled through Twitter. Lovett was standing next to the couch, hovering over Jon, but not paying him any attention. He looked he like had forgotten to sit down. His hip was squeezing itself into Jon’s peripheral vision. Jon continued to poke at his keyboard, but his focus was dwindling. He looked up at Lovett, his thumbs furiously typing a cutting reply, probably. Jon would inevitably read whatever it was later.

“Will you come sit down? I don’t like you on top of me.” Jon leaned forward, closing his laptop and setting it on the coffee table.

“I’m gonna let that one slide,” Lovett said. He looked down at Jon and flashed a quick grin. He made a show of walking around Jon to sit next to him. He flopped down heavily and went back to thumbing his phone. Jon’s senses zeroed on the heat where their bodies were pressed together. He kept thinking about Lovett’s skin radiating through the layers of clothing between them. Lovett looked like he was trying to hide it, but Jon could see blush creeping up Lovett’s neck. He smiled to himself. He couldn’t process how he felt every time he saw Lovett’s cover slip. He wasn’t ready to listen to those feeling quite yet, even if he saw them reflected in Lovett’s eyes.

  
  
  


Their weeks were getting busier as they ironed out their show schedules and they found their rhythms in their expanding responsibilities. For days, it felt like they hadn’t stopped writing, researching, or talking into microphones. It was that much sweeter when they got through their day earlier than they had planned.

Maybe it hadn’t been a long day, but it was nice to be done. The sun was well on its way down. Beautiful shadows were being cast across Favreau's sparse furniture. 

Favreau and Lovett were lounging on Favreau’s couch, laughing over the ads they had finished earlier that day with Tommy. 

“With ads like that, I don't know how they have any underwear left,” Lovett giggled, half laying across the couch, his legs still mostly on the floor. Favreau was perched on the arm of the couch closest to Lovett’s curly head.

Tommy had headed home an hour before, explaining that he needed to read up some more before his next interview. They both had groaned and Tommy had smiled, redfaced. When he left, he playfully slammed the door.

Favreau looked down at Lovett and dropped his hand on the side of Lovett’s face like a nuisance blob. Lovett flinched but didn’t shake him off.

“Tommy’s discipline is such a downer sometimes, but god bless him.” Lovett’s words came out crumpled, pressed into the cushions of the couch.

They giggled about how nerdy their dear Tommy was, and decided to have some wine without him. Lovett attempted a Tommy-drinking-wine impression: Leave It to Beaver smile and two fingers pinching the stem of the glass, pinky out. It completely missed the mark, but Jon laughed anyway, feeling flutters deep in his belly. His arms felt loose. The wine was starting to make him feel warm.

Every time one of them got up for another glass, they sat closer, inching together with every flop. Neither of them thought to bring the bottle back to the couch with them. They continued to chat aimlessly, catching up after being busy most of the week. Jon could see Lovett’s eyes flick down to his mouth as he spoke. His smile felt crooked on his lips. The chit chat was mostly one sided, Favreau letting Lovett dominate the conversation.

“Do you wanna watch anything?” Jon asked, motioning to the TV when Lovett stopped to take a breath.

“No, too depressing. It’s after hours, I’m out,” Lovett said, throwing his hands up. “I just wanna chill, not think about how much worse the world gets by the second.” Lovett snorted and mocked surprise. “Look what you did, Jon! You ruined it!” He smiled at Jon, taking a swig of his wine.

“Then play some music or something, it’s too quiet in here,” Favreau said, his smile strengthened.

“What are you saying? Am I not loud enough for you? Do you want me screaming or something?” Favreau could see Lovett blush and look back to Favreau’s mouth, this time lingering there conspicuously. He was being clumsy with his glances. It made Jon's lips tingle.

“Just pick something upbeat, but not obnoxious,” Favreau said, “And not your damned theme song!” He pushed himself to standing. “I’ve got more than enough obnoxiousness to last the night.” He went to get a refill and took a deep breath. Lovett was see through with his emotions and Favreau still couldn’t acknowledge he thought about it. But he did think about it. He poured himself a glass, drank it, and then poured himself another. It was getting hard to justify resisting. He could hear music playing softly, guitar and a beat. The bottle was almost empty, so he took it with him

When he returned, Lovett was leaning back, arms spread wide across the back of the couch. Jon emptied the last of the wine into Lovett’s glass on the coffee table and sat down beside him. He was pulled into the dip from Lovett’s body. Lovett crossed his legs loosely, his knee almost in Jon’s lap.

“Is this obnoxious-less enough?” Lovett quipped. His lips were slightly pink from the wine. Favreau smiled and nodded.

Lovett pulled his phone out as the next song started, his eyebrows knit in distaste. He tried to change the song coming from the speakers around them, but he was unable to decide. The songs skipped jarringly.

Favreau stared at Lovett’s knee, casually rubbing against his own with every movement. Favreau’s skin felt hot, but his joints felt soft inside, soaked in red wine. The alcohol was steadily dissolving the tenuous grasp he had on his neutral mask. It made him too comfortable in his anxiety. It felt dangerous. He bit his bottom lip, trying to pull himself back to focus. He was slipping into those pesky thoughts. Around Lovett, they felt projected on his face. Every image he tried to avoid was flashing in his head and he couldn’t  make them stop. 

“What time are we meeting with the new ad guys?”

Jon snapped back to attention. The music was back to a smooth rhythm. “Monday. 9:45, I think.” He hoped he was answering the right question.

Lovett rolled his eyes and sat up to grab his wine glass. “That’s really cutting into my no pants time.” 

Favreau laughed quietly and emptied his glass as Lovett emptied his own. He felt far away.

“You’re gonna have to remind me. Give me a wake up call or something,” Lovett said, shaking his head and putting his empty glass back on the shiny tabletop. “Come tear my blanket off, jump on my bed, just make sure I get up.” He looked over at Jon and Jon couldn’t look away. Lovett’s smile was soft. His eyes had the familiar affection shining out of them, an affection that Favreau noticed grow brighter over time. He hadn’t paid much attention to it in the beginning. He didn’t realize how special it was, but now he craved it when Lovett was around. He loved Lovett's attention. It was electric. He tried to be casual, tried to hide the sudden shake in his wine glass, but he was floundering. He nodded and looked back down at the glass steadied in his lap.

“Sure thing, Lo,” Favreau mumbled, reaching to set his glass on the coffee table. He tried his best to steady his nervous shake. He couldn’t believe that he still got shy around Lovett. These new thoughts streaming through his head weren’t new, if he was honest with himself. It was the fact that he couldn’t resist them anymore that was new. He had seen the way that Lovett looked at him, even caught Lovett staring at him more than a few times. It made his skin tingle every time. It made his lungs fill his chest a little more with each breath. He was so sure about Lovett, but he had such a precarious understanding of himself.

Lovett leaned away bonelessly, overextending to reach his messenger bag, and dragged it across the floor to set at his feet. He sat up and turned back to Favreau, his lips parting to have the last word.

And just as Lovett turned to Favreau, another rant probably on deck, Favreau lost control and kissed him.

They weren’t touching other than their lips and knees. Their eyes were closed.

Favreau was very still, hiding behind his eyelids. This was not at all what he had planned. There wasn’t a plan, but it certainly wouldn’t have looked like that.

But it was where they were now.

Lovett sighed, his shoulders loosening before catching himself. Favreau’s eyes flew open as Lovett pulled away slowly. Lovett looked down and bit his lip. A tight smile stretched at his mouth, humorless and weak. Favreau licked his lips carefully.

“Don't,” Lovett started. He chuckled on an exhale, his breath shallow. He almost shook his head. “Just… don't.”

Favreau searched Lovett's face, but it was all contradictions and Lovett wouldn't look up from Favreau’s T-shirt. His eyes were far away and shiny. His lips were pulled taut but his white face was far from a smile. Jon’s brain was TV static.

Lovett's face dropped everything it held when he looked back up at Jon’s face. He leaned back, already scooting across the couch to move away. Favreau’s face was hot. His eyes ached. He opened his mouth to do  _ anything _ , but his lungs were small and deflated. His chest was empty and there was no air. Every part of his body was drowning in panic

Lovett stood at the door before he left. “Remember,” he said, turning back to Favreau. His over confident mask was held together with scotch tape. “Remind me about Monday.” They paused, looking at each other wilt. “I'll see you.”

Favs sat back, his liquid bones melting against the soft cushions of the couch. His mouth was still slightly open. “Yeah,” he breathed. He couldn't look back up into Lovett’s face, so he stared at Lovett’s knees standing now by the door. “Yeah, Monday.”

As Favs braved looking into Lovett's face, Lovett cast his gaze to the wall behind Favreau before turning to leave.

The silence left in the room was deafening. Jon couldn't seem to move.

  
  
  


Days went by before they came together again. The whole morning was back to back meetings, recordings, interviews. Things were a good imitation of how it was supposed to be. If anyone noticed something was off, no one said anything. Not even Tommy heard a missed beat in their routine. It was all going as well as Favreau thought it could under the circumstances. He kicked himself every time Lovett quickly looked away from him. He missed the intimacy. He was striving to make everything as inconspicuous as possible, but his skills were not made for the challenge.

The morning quickly became afternoon before they were able to get away.

When they were finished, Favreau followed Lovett, catching his arm before he could walk out to the parking lot. Tommy was well ahead of them, almost to his car. “I want to talk about the other night,” Favreau said in a loud whisper.

Lovett didn’t look up from where Favreau held his wrist, still trying to walk out. His ears were turning red. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Of course you do,” Favreau almost snapped, but it came out like pleading. “We didn't drink  _ that _ much.”

“Seriously, Jon.” Lovett’s voice was deep and low. Favreau never heard Lovett sound like that before. Lovett pulled at Favreau’s loosening grip to get as far as the curb.

“Just talk to me,” Favreau sighed.

“Take a hint!” Lovett yelled, turning his whole body back to Favreau, his free arm sweeping wide. “Take an out!” Lovett looked around and uncharacteristically quieted his voice. “I don't have to remember and we can move on!” They stood in silence while the sun shone brightly in the annoyingly blue sky. Tommy waved at them as he drove past, leaving the parking lot. They both waved back, smiling tightly. Lovett looked back at Favreau and took a deep breath. Favreau mirrored him, but his brow was twisted in confusion. “There's nothing to talk about, don't worry about it,” Lovett said, all the energy gone. “Leave it alone.”

He finally walked away when Favreau’s grasp fell away. He didn’t look back.

Favreau watched him walk away towards his car. Before Lovett got to his door, Favreau jogged over to catch him one more time.

“I just don’t want you to feel awkward with me every time I-”

“Don’t feel awkward with  _ you _ ? This is all  _ your _ fault! You’re the one that ruined everything!”

Favreau looked stricken and pale. This wasn’t just a weirdness that was going to hang in the air, this was a demolishment of his life as he knew it. And it was his fault. He ruined everything.

Lovett continued to shout. “You! Take some fucking ownership and stop expecting me to deal with your mistake!” Lovett paused to wrench his car door open. “Grow up and pretend it didn’t happen, like an adult.” Lovett fumbled with his keys and Favreau watched him until he sped away. 

  
  
  


Favreau’s body was strewn across his couch like a tangled blanket. The TV was mumbling quietly, flashing colors on the darkened walls. A small shadow was cast from a streetlight, but everything else was flickering bluish light. He had fallen asleep face down for a couple hours, but now it was dark and he was unfortunately awake. He sighed into the cushions as his eyes adjusted to the bright television.

He had napped away the rest of the evening, phone on silent. He needed to regroup. Being so sure and so wrong shouldn’t have been a new feeling, but the disappointment was bruising.

Favreau pushed himself up, unfolding his limbs into something resembling a standing position. He shuffled to the kitchen, his gait ungainly. He pressed a palm against his eye, rubbing at the sleep there. He stretched his arms over his head and looked around his kitchen, still waking up. The stove read 2:13. It was already tomorrow and he still didn’t know what to do.

He opened the fridge, flooding the room in bright white light and singeing his retinas. Quickly, he shut the door and opted for some water from the dispenser on the front. He blindly grabbed across the counter until he found a clunky glass and pressed it to the lever.

He drank most of it in one go and set it back down on the counter. He could finally see his living room more clearly in the dim light. He walked over to the couch and flopped down to watch the TV, grabbing the remote to switch it to another news channel.

He was startled by a knock at the door. He muted the TV and glanced out the window safely behind the curtains. Lovett was standing there, hand at his hip and looking at his phone. He was startled when Favreau yanked the door open. Lovett straightened his shoulders and raised his chin.

“I’m not an experiment,” he said, sternly looking Jon in the eye.

Favreau’s mouth went dry. He tried to lick his lips, but they were stuck. He swallowed and tried again. “I never said you were.” His voice was still deep from sleep. Lovett kept staring at him, trying to bore through him. He only tied Favreau’s stomach in knots.

Lovett took a deep breath. “I’m not an experiment,” he began again, “I’m not a joke-”

“I know,” Favreau interrupted, his eyebrows raised.

Lovett paused with his mouth still open. His face stretched into a bewildered smile, his eyes wide. He shook his head and motioned with his hands. “Then why won’t you let this go?” His voice echoed off the dark houses across the quiet street.

“Do you want me to?” Favreau’s heart was in his throat and his shoulders raced for his ears. Lovett pressed his lips together. Favreau sighed and wanted to throw up.

“Aren’t you going to ask me inside?” Lovett admonished, his brow still pinched.

Favreau stepped back, all tense joints and sharp bones. He pushed the door open further, and watched Lovett brush past him inside. He took a last look at the empty street and pulled the door shut.

Lovett was standing in Favreau’s dark living room, staring at the muted television. His eyes traced the ticker at the bottom on the screen as he chewed on his top lip.

“What are you doing here?” Favreau asked, taking a spot next to Lovett facing the TV. 

Favreau glanced over to Lovett whose eyes were still glued to the screen. “You weren't answering my calls.” Their words sounded more sincere and serious at their hushed volumes.

Favreau glanced around for his phone. He looked back at the side of Lovett’s face, making a mental note to look later. Lovett didn't turn away from the TV, but his eyes were definitely losing focus and falling down the wall.

“I'm sorry,” Favreau croaked, almost as quiet as the electric hum off his house. Lovett closed his eyes but still didn't face him. Favreau stared down at his hands, ran his thumb firmly across his palm, and continued, “I really messed things up. I read the signs all wrong.”

Lovett turned his head, “What signs?”

Favreau lifted his eyes and looked at Lovett. His face felt heavy. “The way… you looked at me.” Lovett’s face was deliberately held blank. “I thought it was what you wanted.”

Lovett bit the inside of his cheek, carefully taking a shallow breath. “But what do  _ you _ want?” The question hung in the air like humidity. The TV was still flickering against their faces.

“I want you to keep looking at me.”

Lovett froze mid inhale. His eyebrows rose above his wide, unblinking eyes.

Jon smiled fondly. “Maybe not like that,” he almost chuckled, his chest still too tight. He was trying Lovett’s tension-breaking-joke strategy, but it was another skill that wasn’t in his wheelhouse. Lovett went back to breathing, blinking the dryness from his eyes. It was strange for Lovett to let the last word go. Jon turned his body to fully face Lovett and Lovett watched him incredulously. “What do  _ you _ want? No more assumptions,” Jon felt braver the longer they looked at each other. Sandbags of anxious weight.

“Look, uh, looking at you is, um, definitely nice,” Lovett stammered. A smile tugged at Jon’s blushing face and he licked his lips. “Are you gonna kiss me yet?” Lovett blurted, dragging a honking laugh from deep inside Jon’s chest. 

“I can. I mean. Can I?”

“Ugh, you’re ridiculous.” Lovett grabbed the back Jon’s head, tugging him down for a clumsy kiss. Jon steadied himself on Lovett’s hips, sweaty palms against soft denim. Lovett sighed a small whine in his throat at the firm touch, urging Jon to pull him closer. When their bodies touched, Jon drew his hands around Lovett’s waist to hold him tighter.

Lovett pulled his face away from Favreau’s fast enough that Favs almost fell forward. “And you’re honest this isn’t a joke.”

“I think this would be a level of dedication only you would have for comedy.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Lovett kissed him again. His hands clung to the base of Jon’s neck, fingers stiff against Jon’s tight muscles. He parted his lips and Jon did the same, their breath hot on each other’s faces. Jon held them tightly together, tangling his fingers in the hem of Lovett’s t-shirt. A rumbling groan bubbled from Jon’s gut when Lovett sucked Jon’s bottom lip between his teeth. These were the thoughts he pretended weren’t there, but now they were playing out in real time. It was so much more than he had expected. He felt Lovett grin against his mouth. Jon grazed his finger across the skin under Lovett’s t shirt, just above the band of Lovett’s underwear. The warmth felt satisfying under his fingertips. He slid his palms underneath Lovett’s shirt, smooth caresses working their way up Lovett’s spine.

Lovett slid his hands down Jon’s neck, over Jon’s shoulders. His hands hesitated at Jon’s collar bones but continued down Jon’s chest. His fingers were trembling with anxious excitement when he pushed Favs away again. He chuckled breathlessly, but his jaw was slack and smileless.

“Like, if you’re gonna touch me like that, can we at least sit down?”

“It’s really true: you honestly cannot stop talking.”

“Hey, I’m not the one with my arms halfway under my shirt, expecting me to just stand here and take it. I prefer taking it sitting down.”

Jon laughed, standing up straight and slowly pulling his arms from around Lovett’s chest. He moved towards the direction of his bedroom door, but Lovett stood expectantly in front of Jon’s couch. His hip was cocked, all of his weight on his left leg. “Oh, diving right in, are we?”

Jon stopped and spun around. He looked at the couch and then at Lovett’s face. “I guess I-” Jon choked. Lovett’s grin yanked at one of his cheeks. “It doesn’t have a frantically muted TV, for starters.” Lovett’s smile made his skin tingle. “It’s also pretty comfortable.”

They both flashed goofy smiles.

Lovett followed Jon and they fell into bed, kissing lazily while stripping each other of their layers. Once they were down to their underwear, their kissing electrified. No amount of skin on skin contact was enough. Favreau had Lovett pinned beneath him. He loved being the weight holding Lovett down.. Their legs were tangled in the sheets and each other, Jon straddling one of Lovett’s thighs. Jon ground down against Lovett’s hip, groaning into Lovett’s mouth. Lovett lifted his hips to meet him and make friction against Jon’s thigh.

Jon kissed down Lovett’s jaw and neck and hummed against Lovett’s skin as he dragged his lips down to Lovett’s collar bone. Lovett smelled so different with nose pressed to skin.  Lovett’s fingers massaged up Jon’s neck, threading through Jon’s short hair. The silky traces across his scalp made his hair stand up. Lovett pressed his fingers to the side of Jon’s head and pulled Jon’s face away from his chest.

“Can you get off me, please?” Lovett asked, looking Jon in the eye.

“Oh, sorry,” Favreau mumbled, graceless limbs rolling to Lovett’s side. “Did I do something wrong?” Favreau fumbled through the night’s events, looking for what went wrong.

Lovett rolled to face him, throwing his leg over Jon’s hip. “No, no no,” he cooed. He continued rolling until he had Jon on his back, straddled between Lovett’s legs. “This is just better.” Lovett leaned down and buried his sly grin in the crook of Jon’s neck. Lovett’s tongue felt delicious trailing down his neck, but the friction against his erection was exquisite. Lovett rolled his hips deliberately slow, drawing heavy sighs from their lungs.

Jon pawed at Lovett’s hips, pulling Lovett against him harder with every brush between them. He lolled his head to the side, giving Lovett more access, but only so he could press his lips to Lovett’s wrist digging into the bed beside him.

They turned their heads to look at each other, Lovett’s dangling between his shoulders, forehead to forehead with Favreau. Favreau didn’t break eye contact as his fingertips dipped under the band of Lovett’s briefs, inching them down Lovett’s backside. He slipped his fingers around to the front, playfully stretching the elastic down until Lovett’s erection sprang free. Lovett gasped when Jon’s fingers coiled around his flesh, leaning into Jon’s grip.

Lovett’s mouth was slack; there was no mask there, only earnest and glassy eyes. “Yeah,” Lovett sighed, “This is definitely better.”

Jon’s palm skimmed the length of Lovett’s shaft, easily dragging breathy moans from Lovett’s throat. Jon’s fist gently closed around the head of Lovett’s dick. Lovett licked into Jon’s mouth, his humming getting louder and louder. It felt like it echoed through Jon’s body. Jon continued to move his hand around Lovett’s erection and Lovett’s hip frantically tried to keep rhythm. When Lovett’s breathing became too heavy for sloppy, open mouthed kisses, he sat up and gulped at the warm air around him. His hips didn’t stop snapping forward, especially since Jon had the space to move his fist more freely, no longer pressed between their bodies.

When Lovett came, Jon thought he would too. Lovett’s eyes were rolled back and his hands gripped his own thighs for balance. A low moan became louder, punctuated by each thrust.

“Ah,ah, ah,” Lovett whined and then wailed, releasing all of the tension in his body and collapsing into a boney puddle on Favreau’s chest. Lovett took a slow deep breath. Then another. His eyes were unfocused. “Just,” he exhaled again. “Just give me a second.”

Favreau smiled at the slur he could hear in Lovett’s voice. Lovett planted his hands on Jon’s chest and awkwardly pushed himself back up. “First, that was a lot,” Lovett stated definitively. He rolled inelegantly from Favreau’s lap, pulling his underwear off the rest of the way. His eyes went large when his balance almost took a dive off the foot of the bed. Lovett dabbed at the drips on his belly with his crumpled underwear, then did the same to Favreau’s belly. This time, he settled between Jon’s legs, kneeling between his thighs.

“Second,” He began, like a decree, two fingers held up. His spine was solid again. “Can I blow you?”

Jon laughed at Lovett’s very serious face, disbelief in every puff of air. He squeezed his bent knees around Lovett’s body. “Yes,” he said, his chuckle dying. “Please,” he sighed, his face becoming serious too. His desperation was too strong and he needed Lovett’s hands on his body.

Lovett laid his hand over the bulge in Favreau’s boxer briefs, letting the weight of his hand drive Jon insane. He pulled at the elastic of Jon’s underwear and leaned back to pull them from Jon’s legs. He settled between Jon’s thighs and kissed down Jon’s stomach, each touch of his lips like a shock.

“Your abs are even better up close,” Lovett muttered into the dark trail leading to Jon’s pubic hair. “God, you’re the worst.”

Jon inhaled to laugh, but his brain short circuited as Lovett wrapped his lips around the head of his erection. He choked, his breath catching with every motion of  Lovett’s mouth and fist. He reached down and splayed his hands across Lovett’s crown. Jon’s head swam as Lovett found the rhythm, pushing him toward orgasm.

“Hey, uh, Lo? Jon?” Favreau stuttered, tugging at his grip in Lovett’s hair. His hips were coming off the bed in a frenzy. He couldn’t hold back anymore. Favreau’s toes curled painfully, his legs stiff and his back arching. His moans filled the dark and humid room, and Lovett swallowed him down.

Jon concentrated on even breathing, his eyes still closed. His body was twitching with electricity. Lovett, pulled his mouth from Jon’s dick with a comedic pop. Jon grimaced and bit his lip, every inch of his body feeling raw.

Lovett wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and slid to stand at the foot of the bed. “Third,” he continued, but paused meaningfully. Jon could see his stark naked silhouette against the light pollution from the window. Lovett pursed his lips, hands on his hips. “I have thought about doing that for an embarrassingly long time and it was almost as good as I thought it would be.”

Jon’s eyes flew open and he raised his head from the pillows. His brows were pinched in startled confusion. “Almost?”

“There were no fireworks or parades, which brought the expectations up a little too high, I will admit. But it was otherwise a pleasant experience. Good on you.” Jon rolled his eyes and allowed Lovett to pull him out of bed by his wrist. They took turns cleaning up in the bathroom and then flopped back down on the bed, the sheets halfway to the floor.

They laid side by side, staring at the ceiling.

“We’ll need to talk about this tomorrow,” Jon said into the lightening dark. Dawn wasn’t that far away.

“Tomorrow,” Lovett hummed in agreement and tucked himself into Favreau’s side. Favreau liked Lovett’s lingering warm on his cooling skin. He didn’t want to move until morning. Late morning if he could swing it.

“Do you think Tommy has any idea?”

Jon groaned. “Tomorrow, dude.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to straightshooters and skylinethroughthewindow for their help getting this mess off the ground and my girl for the last review. Let me know if you have any suggestions. It's a newer fandom, so I don't have everything perfect yet.


End file.
